


In Between Days

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-18
Updated: 2010-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mid-war, a pregnant Pansy Parkinson is granted sanctuary by the Order. When the girl arrives at The Burrow, Ginny Weasley is extremely unimpressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Between Days

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Written in June 2007 for the pansyginny fest at LJ.  
> **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine. Written for fun, not profit. **Pairing:** Pansy/Ginny (backdrop of Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione and others)  
> **Warnings:** AU-ish, flangst. Mention of character death. Sap. Second-person narrative.

The first time you see her again after Hogwarts is on some criminally hot August afternoon in a kitchen full of flypaper, soggy teabags and a stack of plates from a washing-up that should have been done hours ago. 

The Order has decided to grant sanctuary to Malfoy's whore—Malfoy's _pregnant_ whore, at that. You sneer at the news, but at the same time, you can't help but wonder where Malfoy is now. 

Not that you don't already know the answer to that question. 

The pretentious git is still on the run. He fled with Snape not so long ago, to save himself and to escape his responsibilities, including those to his own child, apparently. 

You don't suppose that this should come as any kind of surprise to anyone, but still you can barely fathom that Parkinson actually agreed to come to The Burrow. 

You assume the girl must be desperate, and you think it serves her just right. 

In the end, even stuck-up Slytherin tarts get exactly what they deserve. 

  
*

  
Your mum is the first to welcome her into your home. 

You're not at all impressed with her accepting attitude, and you certainly have no wish to follow her example. 

The way you see it, the fact that Pansy Parkinson is about to bring another Malfoy brat into the world doesn't suddenly make her anything special. 

  
*

  
One morning when you go down to the kitchen, you see her in tears, with your mum seated across the table from her. 

You hide behind the door, hoping they haven't noticed you yet. You've suspected for a while now that there may more to the story than you imagined, and perhaps you're about to be proven right. 

"Have courage, my dear," your mum says with a caring smile. "Draco might still come back to you. As far as we know, all this may have been nothing more than a terrible mistake. And I'm sure he'll be happy with the baby. How could he not be? A child is a wonderful blessing, after all." 

Parkinson doesn't speak for a long moment, until she finally mutters quietly, almost as though she dreads uttering the words, "The baby isn't Draco's." 

You clamp a hand over your mouth, so as not to gasp, and the confusion written all over your mother's face mirrors your own. 

"Gregory Goyle is the father," Parkinson answers the unasked question, her eyes overflowing with tears again. "We've been together for two years. Well, we were together, until…" She chokes back a sob. "He was among those killed in that Ministry raid last month. He didn't even know he was going to be a dad. I never got the chance to…" 

"I'm ever so sorry, dear," your mother says, and hands Parkinson a large dotted handkerchief. 

The girl starts sobbing in earnest, her slender shoulders shaking violently.

You silently head back to your room, not a clue what to think or how to feel about what you just learned. 

  
*

  
Harry has been gone for three weeks, and it remains uncertain when exactly he'll return. 

You no longer miss him like you used to, and you've long stopped lamenting the fact that the two of you have broken up. 

Even though you're still convinced there's something he's not telling you, and you really wish those around you would stop trying to protect you from the truth. 

You may be younger and less experienced, magically, than most of the others in this house are, but you're still clever enough to deduce that in the long run, compared to a terrible truth, well-intended ignorance will harm you more. 

  
*

  
One day, you're given the task of taking Pansy's meals up to her. 

Ever since she came into her second trimester, she finds it more difficult to get around. She has low blood pressure and vertigo, and she has been known to faint for no reason whatsoever. 

You often suspect she's faking it for attention, but you don't want to upset your mother, who's already distraught, since your father has left on urgent, top-secret Ministry business—the kind he can't even tell her about. So you just grit your teeth and bear it. 

On the upside, Parkinson generally ignores you, so usually you stay with her while she eats. You tell yourself you appreciate the silence and that this way, you're spared an extra trip up and down that steep staircase. 

You never stop to consider the possibility that, perhaps, her very presence has a calming effect on you as well. 

  
*

  
One morning when you bring in her breakfast, you find her curled up in a ball on the bed. 

"Do you need a nurse, a mid-wife, anyone?" you ask, worried despite yourself. 

"No," she says vehemently. 

"Are you sure? What if the baby's coming?" 

"No," she snaps. "Not this soon. Honestly, are you crazy, Weasley?" 

"But what if it's premature?" you insist, wondering why you even bother. It's not like you actually _care_ or anything, is it? 

"Just leave me the hell alone," she yells at you. 

A bedside lamp crashes down to the ground, as if knocked over by the sheer force of her anger, and you quickly bolt from the room. 

And so you make yourself a solemn promise: you'll never try to help that haughty bitch ever again. 

  
*

  
For two days, your mother takes up Pansy's meals in your stead. She seems to know there has been an incident of some kind, though she never asks you any questions, or even as much as mentions it. Which isn't like her at all, you realise, so you have to wonder what she's up to. 

"Pansy asked after you," she tells you on the morning of the third day. 

You sigh resignedly and take the tray up to the girl's room. 

Neither you nor Pansy feels the need for explanations, let alone apologies, so you both simply carry on as though nothing was ever wrong. 

It doesn't take long for life to fall back into the old routine. 

  
*

  
Things change, and not necessarily for the better, when on a windy Wednesday morning Harry finally returns, and he's not alone. 

He has Draco Malfoy, of all people, with him, and the two of them seem uncharacteristically chummy with one another. 

"Malfoy officially joined the Order yesterday," Harry announces to the kitchen's gobsmacked occupants. "He has information and skills that might just help us win this war." 

You're not one bit amused, especially when you notice the guilty look that briefly crosses Harry's face. 

You've seen that look before; once, just before he dumped you. 

  
*

  
After the bomb has been dropped, Malfoy goes up to see Parkinson. 

He stays with her for over an hour. 

For reasons you can't explain and aren't quite willing to analyse, not just yet, you suddenly feel left out, angry and possibly, just a little bit envious, because this simply isn't fair. 

Just why is it, you ask yourself bitterly, that everyone seems to prefer _Malfoy_'s company to yours? 

  
*

  
Four weeks later, you wake up to the sound of a terrible ruckus. 

Fleur tells you in that thick, terrible accent of hers that there are complications with Pansy's pregnancy. The girl will have to rest and take it a whole lot easier from now on. 

"All right," you reply. 

It's on the tip of your tongue to ask what's so bloody strenuous about lying in bed for days on end, but you never utter a word. 

The atmosphere at The Burrow is tense enough as it is. 

  
*

  
You've been assigned to sit with her, 'just in case.' 

You don't understand why it always has to be you. After all, there are plenty of other people around. 

Parkinson still doesn't say much, but this time, the silence actually gets to you, so you start talking, and telling her things, some of them quite personal. 

You discover that she's a pretty good listener, and besides, being in her room also spares you any confrontations with Harry and Malfoy, and Ron and Hermione, and Bill and Fleur, and Fred and Angelina, and all those other infuriatingly happy couples that never fail to make you feel even more like an outsider than you already do. 

It occurs to you that Parkinson is in a similar boat and sometime in the days that follow, the two of you form a tentative truce, and not just because you've discovered that you have something rather unexpected in common 

She informs you that Malfoy turned her down years ago because he'd realised he was gay, and you tell her Harry broke up with you because..; 

Well, what he said back then was probably just an excuse, wasn't it? Maybe he, too, had reached the conclusion that girls didn't really turn him on? 

Looking back, he was never very physical with you, didn't seem to want to do anything more than kissing, and even then, you had to take the initiative every single time. 

Harry certainly doesn't seem to mind snogging Malfoy, if Ron's disgusted complaints and frequent 'I'm going to be sick' gestures are anything to go by, nor does Harry apparently fear what the Dark Lord might do to Draco if the news of this bizarre liaison ever fell on the wrong ears. 

To your surprise, you find you no longer care as much as you used to. 

You suppose it's funny how Harry was your first crush, while your second one was Tom Riddle, and then you pretty much went from the villain back to the hero again (and no, the boys you dated to make said hero jealous really don't count), and you have to wonder if, perhaps, you have some strange romantic affliction that's got you swinging back and forth between good and evil like some misguided human pendulum. 

On a lazy, boring Sunday afternoon, you mention your observations to Pansy. She laughs, and soon you laugh with her because really, in a twisted, messed-up, dysfunctional way, all this is kind of funny, and you catch yourself thinking that she's not so bad now you've got to know her, and she treats you like an equal, or at least she doesn't ignore you, not like most of the others do these days. 

You don't stop to question when things changed, but you do realise they have, and you can't say you're sorry that you didn't stick to your original plan. 

Pansy may just be the best friend you've ever had. 

  
*

  
Slowly, stealthily, new feelings sneak up on you, and you don't know when precisely they started. 

One day, you just wake up and realise they're _there_, clear as crystal and too glaringly obvious to deny. 

  
*

  
You shouldn't be this worried about her going into labour. Women have babies all the time.

You shouldn't be sitting there in the corridor, shaking like a leaf, pale as a ghost, clutching at your skirt, almost ripping its sturdy fabric. 

You shouldn't be horribly nervous and dreadfully scared, your forehead stained with perspiration, almost as though Pansy's baby is yours too. 

You're angry and disappointed that they wouldn't let you stay with her. It doesn't seem fair, not after all that time. 

You almost faint when the nurse re-emerges from the room. In a soft, reassuring voice, she says that everything's all right. 

You let out a relieved breath and you're convinced your face must be as white as the woman's apron. 

You rush into the bedroom to find Pansy lying there on the bed, looking exhausted. In her arms, she's cradling a tiny baby with a small tuff of black hair on its proportionally large head. 

She looks at you and smiles. "It's a girl, Ginny." 

You burst into tears and then you smile back, your heart soaring 

  
*

  
Two weeks later, you and Pansy sit on a bench out in the garden while inside the house, your mother watches over the baby. 

You reach out and take Pansy's hand, though this time, the girl doesn't need to be reassured about anything. 

She looks fine. Happy and relaxed. 

No, you correct yourself, she doesn't look merely fine, she looks positively glowing, and beautiful. You wonder why you never noticed that before. 

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, breaking the ten or so minutes of companionable silence. 

You take a deep breath and try to garner the courage to say what you've been meaning to tell her for a while, ever since you first figured it out for yourself. 

"I-" You pause momentarily, scared that you're about to ruin the most valuable friendship you've ever had. 

You look at her, then, and she does the unexpected. She leans closer and she kisses you. 

It feels less urgent than it did with Dean and it's nowhere near as clumsy as it was with Harry. Of course Pansy's more experienced than either of those boys were back then, but still… Somewhere at the back of your mind, you wryly wonder whether perhaps Harry wasn't the only one Seeking for the wrong team back then. 

The two of you break apart and you study her face carefully, searching for any signs of regret or doubt, but finding none. 

"Um, I'm a girl," you finally say, because 'are you sure the equipment won't be a problem?' seems a little blunt, even for you. 

"I don't care," she replies noncommittally, and adds with a grin, "Besides, you've got more balls than most of the blokes I know." 

You laugh at that because you find you can't really disagree. 

With nothing left to say, for now, you scoot closer, place a hand on her knee, and you kiss her again. 

You never notice how your mother, who was on her way to invite you both in for tea, stands there for a moment, a few feet away from where you and Pansy are, and then quickly turns on her heel. 

You never see her head back to the house with a big smile on her face, relieved that her daughter has finally found some much-deserved happiness too. 

  
*

  
Two days later, you and Pansy decide on a name for her daughter; 

_Hope. _

It seems fitting. 

Three hours after the girl was born, Harry finally vanquished Voldemort. 

  
*


End file.
